


Vanilla

by fulmiinata



Category: Free!
Genre: A brief Rin appearance, Art Student!Haruka, Badly-written closed mouth kisses, Barista!Makoto, Cause that's all I do apparently don't judge me ok, Kink Meme, Lower any expectations now, M/M, They're accidental, coffeeshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulmiinata/pseuds/fulmiinata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He always orders a drink right before he leaves - an iced coffee, double shot - and it’s become Makoto’s favorite part of the day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, _another_ fill I'm de-anoning from. Maybe one day I'll write something that didn't come from the kink meme, but there's so many cute prompts on there so... who knows? 
> 
> One thing you should know: I do change perspective more than once in this fic. An indicator is whether 'Haru' or 'Haruka' is used, because I get the feeling Haru self-identifies as, well, Haru.
> 
> ANYWAYS, this fluffy, schmoopy fill comes from [this prompt](http://www.iwatobiswimclub.dreamwidth.org/893.htm?thread=563837#cmt563837).

 

His name is Daisuke, Makoto decides on one spring afternoon, as he stares over to a small table in the corner that faces the ocean. His name is Daisuke Sato, and his favorite color is blue. He likes walking along the shore, and is a medical student.

 Of course as far as Makoto knows, none of these things are facts - they’re more like headcanons. In all honesty, the brunette knows very little about one of his most loyal customers, apart from the fact that he has black hair, - _that, if you look at it in just the right light you can see the hues of blue in his bangs_ \- blue eyes, - _the most beautiful shade of blue he’s ever seen_ \- and that he sits at same table every day. Usually, he’ll walk in when the sky has become a washed-out afternoon blue, and leave when it starts to fade from pink to early-dusk lilac. He always orders a drink right before he leaves - an iced coffee, double shot - and it’s become Makoto’s favorite part of the day. It’s the part of the day that coaxes the very last bits of sunny brightness into his smile, and, sure he gives one to every other customer that comes through the coffee shop, but this one is different, it’s just for him. It’s warmer, and much more genuine.

 “Have a nice day,” he always says, as he hands the man his coffee. ‘Daisuke’ never replies; he just nods his thanks before heading out. It leaves Makoto wondering what his voice sounds like.

 It’s on a different spring afternoon that he finds out. Makoto’s about to leave early, because his mother’s birthday is today and he’s going to pay her a visit, but not before watering the plants, whom Rin insists are shriveling up.

 “They like you better than they like me,” he’d said, presenting Makoto with the watering can. “If I even look at them they’ll probably die.”

 Too good-natured to refuse, Makoto takes it, and retreats to the back wall where all the plants reside. Just as the last drops trickle from the watering can’s spout, the brunette hears one, two, three sneezes come from behind him. Instinctively Makoto turns to say “Bless you,” as he fishes out a small package of tissues from his pocket. He almost drops it, though, when he realizes it’s the man that comes in every day; “Daisuke”. His nose is a little red and his cheeks are a little flushed. It must be a cold.

 “Here,” Makoto hands him the tissues. “Are you alright…?”

 “Nanase,” the man completes the sentence. “Haru… ka.”

  _Haruka_. It’s like a breath of fresh air, and Makoto instantly forgets that he ever thought his name was Daisuke. Haruka is better, because it fits him so perfectly, and because it means they have something in common - a feminine name. Makoto smiles; the thought makes him strangely happy. “It’s nice to meet you, Haruka.” he holds out his hand. “I’m Makoto.”

 Haruka accepts the handshake. In front of him, sitting on top of the table, Makoto spots something interesting. A sketchbook.

 “Is that yours?” continues the brunette, pointing at it. It’s open, one of the thick pages containing a drawing that isn’t completed, but from what’s there Makoto can already tell it will be beautiful. There’s something about the lines and circles that have been etched into the paper that’s vaguely stunning.

 “Mmhmm.” The expression on Haruka’s face hasn’t changed; it remains impassive, almost disinterested. His eyes, however, light up, albeit only fleetingly.

 Makoto is eager to know what else lies inside that sketchbook, and just what kind of talent lies inside this Nanase Haruka. Tentatively, he asks, “Can… can I see it?”

 The tips of Haru’s ears turn red and he opens his mouth like he’s about to refuse, but decides against it, turning around to pick up the book and hand it to the barista. Makoto takes it, flipping carefully to the very first page, where Haru has drawn a woman. From the way Makoto looks at it, from the way his face is lit up with awe, one would think he’d just drawn something worthy of Michelangelo.

  _It’s nothing special_ , Haru wants to tell him. In fact, the drawing is one of his oldest works since starting art school - in his opinion it’s kind of awful. Her anatomy is off, she lacks proper expression, the clothes don’t fall right on her body--

 “This is beautiful,” breathes the brunette. Warmth floods Haru’s cheeks. He turns his head to the side, mumbling something that even he doesn’t completely understand.

 As Makoto continues to flip through the pages, his countenance grows more and more impressed. “Wow! These… these are absolutely ama—” he stops at a drawing he’d never expected to see in there.

 It’s one of himself.

 The drawing is a profile, and Makoto wonders just how hard Haruka had to try to make him look so _beautiful_. As opposed to the other drawings he’d seen, which had only been sketches, this one is cleaned up, done in black felt pen, and in color.

 Oh, the _colors_. Makoto can only imagine how many colors went into this one drawing - there’s the black of his shirt highlighted with deep gray, the emerald color of his apron, right down to the brown sugar of his hair, Everything looks absolutely perfect, it’s like looking at a picture, if Makoto was photogenic.

 Makoto swallows a sigh, gently touching the page with his fingertips.”Is this… is this me?” he doesn’t know why he asked, if he already knows the answer. He watches Haruka turn a deep umber - poor guy must really be sick. Or maybe it’s too hot in the cafe. Makoto makes a mental note to turn down the thermostat when he comes in tomorrow.

 “Why aren’t my eyes colored in?” it slips out before the barista can even think about it.

 Haruka briefly meets his gaze before turning his head to the side again, and by now Makoto is seriously concerned by how red he’s gotten. “... Couldn’t find the right shade.”

 In a very strange way, that is quite possibly one of the best compliments Makoto has ever /not/ received - if it was right to take it that way.

 The statement is completely true, though. At the bottom of his messenger bag Haru has a crumpled up piece of paper filled with sketches of Makoto’s eyes, all in different shades of green. Machalite and emerald are too dark, harlequin green has always been an ugly color in his opinion, and there’s too much blue in jade. He’d stressed over it for hours before getting angry at it and almost drowning it in his sink. It was a weird habit of his to immerse any artwork he hated in water.

 Silence precedes Haru’s comment, and in his mind he’s contemplating whether or not it was smart to say what he’d said, and if he should just run away now. In fact, the option is very tempting, since he seems to have very successfully creeped out this person that he meant to only admire from afar.

 “I mean—”

 “Thank you!” to Haru’s horror, Makoto is bowing.

 “Uh.” replies the raven most eloquently. “What?”

 “Thank you for drawing me!”

 Haru is so surprised, that all he can do is blink his blue eyes several times. Fortunately, not a millisecond later he gets a better grasp on himself, and is therefore able to react properly. “You don’t have to thank me,” he states, bluntly, and takes back the sketchbook. He closes it, in hopes that Makoto won’t see all the other drawings of him that were in there.

 He never meant for it to happen; one day he’d been doodling absentmindedly while thinking about his next course assignment, and what had started out as random lines soon became the curve of a jaw, a nose, those glasses Haru thought Makoto should wear more often. He remembered having looked down at it in surprise, then up at the counter, where the barista had been chatting with a long-haired redhead by the percolator.

 After that, Haru had just begun doing it out of habit, somewhat enthralled by Makoto - from how he styled his hair the same way but it was never _exactly the same_ , to how he made every order almost lovingly.

 Outside, the sky is reverting back to blue - a shade of navy that Haru knows can’t be found in a tube of paint. Curfew is coming soon. “I need to go.” Haru uses his thumb to point to the window.

 “Oh?” it appears as though Makoto isn’t aware of just how long their exchange had taken. The brunette smiles sheepishly, causing Haru’s knees to weaken involuntarily.

  _Stop stop stop—_

 With the hand that isn’t holding the watering can Makoto reaches to rub at his nape, forgetting momentarily that it’s the one holding his keys. They slip from his grasp, making a small _clink_ as they hit the floor. Haru bends down to pick them up, and it appears that he doesn’t know Makoto is doing the same. He rises, keys in hand, head tilted like he’s going to say something. He doesn’t get to, though, because Makoto is closer than he’d anticipated, and they meet halfway.

 Well, more like their lips do.

 The feeling of Makoto’s lips on Haru’s is unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. He sighs from his nose, and when he inhales he can tell that the smell of the coffee shop has permeated itself into Makoto. It’s sweet and rich, like vanilla and caramel and fresh-ground coffee all at once.

 From this distance he can also tell Makoto's eyes are peridot green.

 Makoto’s so taken aback, that his whole body tenses up, but upon realizing that Haruka’s lips are cool and soft he relaxes, even going so far as to place his hands on Haruka’s upper arms and bring him closer. He tastes like chlorine.

 Lack of air pulls them apart, slightly panting and all kinds of red.

 “I’m so sorry!” Makoto exclaims as his hands fly up to his mouth. He’s giving off so much heat, Haru’s worried he might spontaneously combust. “I—I didn’t—”

 “It’s fine.” Haru breathes. _It really is_. His mouth is tingly and he’s hot all over, but it’s not from the cold he has.

 Clearly, the barista isn’t about to just let this slide. “No, really! Let—let me buy you a coffee or something!” there’s no room for argument, because Makoto is already behind the counter pouring milk and ice and coffee into a cup.

 Haru sighs, unable to ignore the absolute throbbing of his heart - it feels like it’s going to tattoo a likeness of itself on his ribs. There’s a warmth there, too, spreading from his chest to his fingertips to his toes to his head. He’s kissed girls before, and it was nice, but they’ve never left him feeling like this; so hot and fluttery and out of control.

 He rather likes it.

 The sounds of Makoto returning release Haru from his thoughts, an iced coffee in his hand. When the transfer of the cup causes their fingers to brush, rather than ignore the oscillation in his chest, Haru acts on it.

 “I really am sorry—”

Makoto doesn’t get to finish that apology, because Haru kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Now, this is isn't the _exact_ exact fill as the one on the meme. I polished this one up, cause I tend to do that with a lot of my stuff. 
> 
> /flips hair/ Whatever. 
> 
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> oh yeah, i know i said haru orders coffee and w/e but makoto doesn't know what he sounds like; idk just imagine it's like at starbucks with the menu thing they have and pretend haru just points at what he wants and makoto instantly knows okay? okay.


End file.
